On the nights that he did sleep, he was oblivious to the goings on that happened throughout the terrain. The trees would crackle as their branches swept against each other in the wind, and the rivers would continue to flow- everything about the forest was so reliable, that Vercingetorix believed he could sleep without the fear of a scream in the night awakening him. It was more common that he should be jolted awake by the sickening shriek of his dying mother in his dreams than to hear the terrified howl of a woman in fear or in danger, and for this the stallion finds that he has little to fear.

Most days he would wander throughout the trees, keeping closer to the borders of his home than to the meat of the herd that had gathered somewhere in the middle, but he knew that the mares had begun to disperse. It was unwise for them to keep so far apart, with a stallion that was more often than not aloof and kept at bay by his social ineptitude, yet they do so anyway. Today his wandering had brought him to the small, clear running creek that he currently drank from, away from the huffing and puffing of the dappled mare that was giving birth just over the hill and in some thicket that was as equally dense and as protective as the hutch that he had dug himself into on the nights that he planned to sleep. Suspended between where the forest slowly turned into field, the stallion was comforted by tall grass that sweeps against his knees and the quiet of the trees thanks to the lack of wind today.

It was not often that he was left alone for long, and as he finished drinking his fill, Vercingetorix lifts his head barely an inch from the water, watching with brow eyes as the water that drips from the bottom of his lips and chin is swept away by the current of the small creek. His ears twitch to the sides and then backwards with a precursory scan of the sounds around him, catching the hushed and somewhat distant sound of footfalls that sounded as if they were coming in his direction. For a couple moments, he just listens, swatting his red tail across his haunches and stamping one food before lifting his head and turning to address whoever was approaching him.

Thankfully, today is one of the few days that he could be found in a rather good mood, but despite him being fuelled by a good sleep and the taste of fresh, clean water, he still drops his eyes from the mare to the child. Vercingetorix is not unintelligent, and fully aware that the russet boy that clings to his mother's side is not one of the dun's offspring, relieving the forest stallion of any and all obligations that he had to the boy. The woman was his largest concern, being that she was one of his flock and of more value to him than a colt that was neither his nor of a gender that was of use to him. Deciding it best to ignore the child for the time being, his eyes return to the grey's face as she speaks and he nods first in a quiet greeting. “Hello.”

Throughout his life, the stallion had not had the pleasure of being a family person. He had never sired his own children, and when a pretty young mare with golden skin had decided to pursue him as a mate, he had baulked at the idea and fled into the bushes, opting to remain hidden until finally returning to a completely different terrain some many months later. Vercingetorix had been educated about the roles of a stallion, and instead instead of offering companionship and love, he had brought with him the sort of brute force that could be seen in his strong shoulders and his muscular haunches. Perhaps he would have been more handsome were it not for the stern lines that had been permanently drawn across his face. He also knew that new mothers were more often than not proud of the small, furry packages that they had bore in privacy, and that he perhaps owed her some sort of congratulations. “You and your child look well.” He says in a soft voice that is a little less flat than usual, hoping that his words sounded more congenial than he really felt.